The Meaning of Wings
by Evelyn Downs
Summary: The thriving, modern city of Eko is plagued by monsters. It's men are warriors-dragon slayers, its women politicians and courtiers, led by the savior of their land, Stoick the Vast. So what will become of his daughter when she proves clumsy, sarcastic, too smart for her own good? Well, of course, she makes friends with a dragon, disguises herself as a boy, and changes their world.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, all! It's been quite a while since I posted anything here...and I hardly have any business starting something new, considering the state of my other fics. But I couldn't resist-I love genderbends, and when I noticed the trend of the Hiccup/Astrid swaparoo, I just had to play. So here's my experiment: female Hiccup, male Astrid, entirely Alternate Universe and a whole lot of additional world building as a result. The trajectory of the plot is pretty much the same, with a couple things added in by AU necessity. But this one's a doozy...can't wait to find out what people think. Anyway, have fun with it if you can.**

Eko: A city rooted ten days north of hopeless and a few measly degrees south of freezing to death. It teetered between the towering, Dobrin mountains of doom and the certain death of Pembroke forest. The city was ancient—towering, majestic stone walls, sturdy shops, and the ever-hopeful silhouettes of turrets with the city's colorful flags waving in the wind. Yet upon closer inspection, the stones were blackened with char, the cobbled streets pockmarked with darkened blasts and nearly every home or shop either brand new or in the process of rebuilding. After all, the city was charming—full of the latest fashions, brilliant weaponry and armor, fine cuisine and the finest minds and warriors to be found in the land. But it was suffering from a severe pest problem. Located as it was between two of the world's magical hotspots, it didn't suffer from the usual fare or mice, or cockroaches, or mosquitos. Instead, this particular city was constantly plagued by…

"Dragons!" The shrill shout split the night, dampened by a heavy mist, as a young girl leaned out her second-story bedroom window, pointing into the sky. Unfortunately, her warning came too late, as the darkened forms that dotted the skyline were already upon them, and she was forced to quickly duck back into her room as one let loose a blast of fire directly at the window. The flames hit the brimstone walls of her apartment—all the buildings were of brimstone these days—and her window cracked under the heat. With a squeak she slammed the shutters closed and pressed her back against them, listening to it's pealing crackles as the stream of fire caused it to reach heat capacity, shattering against the heavy wood. Wide green eyes peered cautiously through a crack in the shutters once the attack subsided, and the girl noticed the dragon was gone, having grown bored with its attack on windows.

She hurriedly pushed away from the window, yanking her nightgown over her head to don a pair of thick, carpenter's breeches and a heavy leather tunic—fighting gear from her brother years ago—followed by thick-soled boots and her belt, packed with knives and hammers. Heart thudding in her ears, she slammed the door behind her, not bothering to lock it. Who was going to commit a robbery during a dragon attack?

She burst through the heavy, oaken door of the building into the sharp, dampness of the night. Her chin-length, ruddy hair whipped in the wind, winding itself into even more disarray than usual. The sky was lit with the glow from dragon fire, the heavy mist refracting the light as a hellish, red glow that settled upon the entire city and illuminated the winding streets.

All around, the people of the city ran with purpose, shouting to one another and pointing to each area in need of attention. Or rather, the _men_ o the city ran about, teams running to put out fires, and various warrior guilds running to dispatch the dragons that landed in the city. Setting her teeth, Hina set off into the night, heading for the Forge—a weapons shop and emergency combat station she was familiar with.

It took twenty minutes of intermittent sprinting, ducking and dodging to reach the street corner where the Forge squatted, taking up nearly an entire city block. The huge, double-door entrance was thrown open, flurried with activity beneath the massive and intricate arches that supported the upper stories of the building. The Forge's gargantuan owner, Greg, stood in the entryway, firmly directing traffic while simultaneously working the bellows that occupied most of the ground floor. After all, the only way to effectively fight dragons was with fire. Ironic.

"Greg," she panted when she reached the entrance. The large man spared her a glance, eyes, already squinted from years of weapons work, narrowing even further.

"What are you doing outside?!" he demanded. "Get back inside!" Hina opened her mouth to protest.

"Go inside, lass!" behind her, another burly man by the name of Quint yanked on the back of her tunic, spinning her toward home. She glowered, about to protest, when a large group suddenly burst around the corner.

"Greg!" Hina recognized her uncle, Daryl, at the head of the group, an unconscious man draped across his burly shoulders. The big man certainly looked the worse for wear as he handed his burden off to one of the nurses that scurried about the entrance and whisked him up the back staircase. Daryl's face was blackened by soot, the left sleeve singed and scorch marks across the hardy leather guarding his chest. Greg clapped him on the shoulder.

"They'll take him to the infirmary upstairs," he gestured to where the injured man had already disappeared to the second floor of the Forge. Daryl nodded, eyes reddened by the heavy sulfur and heat of fighting dragons. Greg studied him carefully. "How is it?" he asked somberly. Daryl finally transferred his gaze to Greg's face, shook his head.

"Not good," he said. "There are more this time—we've got them coming from both directions." He was referring to the hotspots that flanked the city: the Dobrin mountains and the Pembroke forest. Exactly which creatures lived in either place was unknown—no one had ventured far in either direction to return alive—but very different kinds of dragons seemed to approach from each direction. _Why we decided to build a city here, I will never understand,_ Hina thought, bouncing on her toes as she listened to the two adults. She wanted to be out there…to slay a dragon was the peak of honor and glory in this city, worth a dozen griffins, basilisks or goblins. If she could take one down…she began edging past Greg into the Forge. She had to get her hands on her invention. She could picture where she'd left it, in the corner of the Forge behind the bellows.

Ever since she was little, Hina had spent her days working in the Forge, helping out with simple tasks and the chores. It was her father's way of keeping her out from under foot…and away from sight. He didn't want to deal with her, and her mother was long gone and unable to help. So he'd stuck her with his long time best friend, Greg. At first, Hina had hated it—everything was heavy, and too big for her, and the bellows were always sweltering and smelled of sulfur. But eventually, Greg trusted her with some of the metal work, and as soon as Hina crafted her first dull, uneven sword, she was hooked. The only catch: she had to stay out of sight. After all, what would people say if they knew a girl was crafting their weapons? What would her father say if he found out she was doing more than the simple legwork he'd signed her up for? Worse: the spent her free time developing her inventions, and with their embarrassingly low success rate, she didn't want to picture her father's face if he found out. As it was, Greg tried to discourage her inventions: they always backfired, often ending with a narrow dodge from the blacksmith. But Hina was determined, and her latest project, she was sure, would be her key to taking down a dragon. _This one will be different,_ she told herself firmly, eyes fixed on its hulking mass as she squeezed past Greg. _This one will work…_

"Stoick is still out there," Daryl was saying. "He's got a bunch of them backed up against the city wall…but he's outnumbered." Hina froze, distracted by the mention of her father. She wasn't overly concerned. Stoick the Vast was the pride of the city—its leader, and its greatest warrior. So he was outnumbered; Hina had no doubt he would overcome the dragons, even if he was alone with only a single torch and his famous battle axe. She moved to continue into the Forge…but her hesitation cost her.

"Hina!" Greg shouted, planting a hand firmly on her shoulder. He towered nearly two feet above her, and when he spun her to face him Hina found herself craning to look into his face. "Go home!" he commanded.

"Please, for once let me outside! This time I'll prove myself—I will! I'll kill a dragon for sure this time…and my whole life will change. They," she gestured to the mob of youth that was running up toward the Forge, weapons in hand and soot all over their Apprentice Warrior uniforms, "might even talk to me."

"They do talk to you," Greg snarked, knowing full well the extent of their comments. Hina rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, no. They mock me, to one another. That's different. Just let me out, Greg!"

"Not a chance," Greg answered without pause, without even looking at her. He pulled an axe from the rack on the wall and shoved it into the hands of one of the young men in the youth group. Hina rolled her eye as she recognized her horrible cousin, Sen, Daryl's son. He sneered at her, hoisted the axe, and jogged arrogantly back out into the fray. With him Hina recognized a slew of other juniors—all boys she had watched and envied for years, though the only other name she knew belonged to the tall, silent boy that easily hefted a sword twice her size, ignored her completely, and jogged after Sen. Hina watched Astren go, his blond braid catching the firelight, and gritted her teeth with threw a pointed look at Greg, who shook his head. "You've gotten out there before," he reminded her. "It's never ended well. You can't throw any weapons—you can't even _lift_ some of them!"

"That never posed a problem before…" Hina muttered.

"You were very lucky, before," Greg snapped. "If you keep pushing it, you're going to get yourself fried." Hina winced, and hid her embarrassment with a roll of her eyes. He was absolutely right—she had a bad track record, and she was even weaker than the average woman in the city. Shorter, and lacking the strong elegance of her peers. But she was determined.

"I know I can't throw anything," she tried doggedly. "But that's why I have…this!" She yanked the tarp off her invention, revealing a squatting bulk of tangled gears and wooden pistons. It was certainly clunky…but it would work, she was sure. "This will throw for me—it's perfect!" She patted it fondly. To her horror, it responded by flinging its ammunition forward: three metal balls strung together with thick hemp ropes. The weapon hurtled toward Greg, who calmly dodged, and Hina cringed. That particular misfire had probably cost her any chance she had with him…

Sure enough, Greg slapped a hand against his forehead, exasperated.

"This is exactly why you are not allowed out," he growled. "If you ever want to make people here accept you, you need to stop…this." He waved his hand at her. Hina scoffed, indignant.

"You just gestured to all of me."

"Yes!" Greg exclaimed. "Exactly—stop being all of you." He turned back to yank a large sword—probably Hina's height—off a passing wagon of damaged weapons.

"But—"

"No, Hina. Stay in here—end of discussion. Your father needs me out there, and I don't want to hear that you've scrambled out there while I'm gone."

"One day," Hina yelled at him. "One day I'll kill a dragon—you'll see! And then—"

"Whatever—now get inside the Forge. Don't make me tell you again," he growled. "And don't cause trouble—everyone already has their hands full as it is. Start sharpening these." He thrust the giant sword into her hands, and she nearly folded beneath the weight, adding insult to injury. His comment smarted, but Greg's glare left no room for arguments. Scowling, Hina scurried inside, dragging the sword behind her as she dodged nurses with injured warriors and men running by with large buckets of water to put out fires.

She hefted the sword onto the bellows, watching out the corner of her eye as Greg loosed a battle cry and leapt out into the streets. She counted to fifty in her head, calmly sharpening the blade. Then she set it in the trough to cool…and raced outside with her invention, hurriedly reloading it and ignoring the scolding of the nurses as she ran past.

Hina didn't bother running to where the bulk of the fighting was, down the main street of the city. She could see the glow of dragon fire rising over the city line, casting long, dancing shadows of the warriors across the city's towering walls. Hina knew that's where everyone was fighting, it was where Greg had run off to…and it was certainly where her father was. So instead she ran up a side alley that wound up a steep hill behind the Forge. It was lined by older townhouses—a little more protected than the main body of the city, the Forge marked the start of the older part of town, and the tilting houses that climbed the hill had been around through many dragon battles.

At the end of the street, the alley opened up onto a magnificent bluff. The houses thinned out, replaced with stretches of packed earth and wild grasses. A ways beyond, the first scattered, gnarled trees cropped up—a premonition of the wild forest beyond the city walls. Hina expertly navigated the more rugged terrain away from the heart of the city, the wheels of her machine rattling behind her, until she was standing right at the edge of the bluff, staring out across the blazing sky. In the distance, the white peaks of the Dobrin mountains caught the hazy moonlight, and she aimed her device out toward them, over the red glow of the city. She checked the calibration of her careful mechanisms, and carefully settled the ammunition in the machine's pocket, before hunkering down to wait, eyes trained on the sky.

 **Well then...that's that, I suppose. One chapter in. I might make this whole thing a trend: steal plot lines, completely twist everything around and pop it into some other world. Whaddaya think? Hate it? Love it? Curious? Lemme know ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

Hina knew what to expect from these dragon attacks by now: the dragons came in waves, all kinds coming in pods. Nadders—bright and medium sized forest dragons, followed by Gronkles—rounder, bee-like mountain-dwellers with spiked skin and whirring wings. Then came the hideous Zipplebacks—two headed, horned and complete tricksters. The Nightmares were last when only forest dragons came in—large, spiked, with a nasty habit of setting themselves on fire. But on nights like this—nights when the beasts from both mountain and forest realms flew in—she knew the guest of honor would appear last. The Night Fury. It was this last beast—rarest and most deadly of the dragons—that Hina was after. No one living in the city had ever seen one…but they had all heard one. The telltale whistle of a Night Fury was one of the few sounds that sent the warriors of Eko running for cover. It was a dragon no one took on themselves. Not that any of the dragons were pushovers—Nightmares, in particular, had the highest death count; Hina's own mother was killed by one when Hina was a mere infant. But the Night Fury…no one had ever killed one. Hina was determined to be the first.

And so she crouched by her invention, eyes trained on the sky, ears tuned to listen for the Night Fury's whistle. Her hand rested rigidly on the lever, knuckles white, itching to pull it.

"Come on" she muttered "I need a shot—just one shot." She searched the sky, praying to no one in particular. She watched for a long moment, her heart thudding in her ribcage, and nothing happened. With a sigh, she prepared to stand and begin the trek home.

Then she heard the whistle. That unmistakable sound of Fury wings against the sharp night air.

Her breath catching in her throat, Hina whipped her invention to point toward the noise, eyes wide as she waited for a visual. Her pupils expanded, peering into the darkness. So she was blinded when blue flames suddenly shot out of the sky, lighting one of the catapult towers ablaze. For a split second, Hina catches the outline of wings against the sapphire blaze. The clashes, clangs and bellows of the battlefield dimmed in her ears as she focused in, picturing the trajectory of the bat-like wings. With a sharp burst of air through her nose, Hina aimed and shot before she could question herself.

The wheels of the machine kicked up the dirt, and the back slammed into Hina in its backlash. She landed in the dirt, eyes glued to where her bolas hurtled through the night sky. She didn't even notice that she'd clipped her elbow and it was bleeding freely. Instead she scrambled into a crouch, eyes scanning the night as she listened for, and then heard, a faint cry and the abrupt whistle of a falling dragon. The stars were blotted out, one after another, in a line as the black figure of the dragon streaked down toward earth. Hina made a mental note of its trajectory: _Raven's Point_. Then it disappeared behind the tree line.

For a long moment, Hina stared blankly after it. Then, as the shock wore off, she sprung to her feet with a triumphant whoop, face alight with victory.

"I did it!" she cried into the crisp air. "I did it—I hit a Night Fury! Who saw that?" she asked rhetorically, knowing full well she wouldn't get an answer, almost reveling in the expected silence. She had taken down a dragon—a Night Fury—and she had done it all herself, alone with her invention.

A low growl interrupted her jubilance, reminding her that she did have an audience…just not the kind she would've hoped for. Green eyes wide, Hina spun on her heel so fast she nearly fell over. She was met by a blazing form: a Nightmare, already with its scales glowing bright red, flames flickering all over its body. Too terrified even to scream, Hina slowly backed up as it stepped forward, carelessly crushing her invention with a giant paw. Nearly hyperventilating in panic, Hina's boot heel caught a rock and down she tumbled, landing hard on her back and catching herself painfully on her already injured elbow. _Stupid,_ her mind thought numbly. _What is Greg always telling me? Watch my footing…look behind…_

The dragon was advancing slowly, and Hina imagined she caught a mirthful glint in its eyes as it parted its jaws and she watched gas gurgle in its mouth as it prepared to douse her in streams of fire. _I'm really going to die…_ She squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

But the melting, agonizing heat never came. Instead there was a loud clank, a furious bellow and a loud screech. Hina's eyes snapped open in time to see the silhouette of a massive human between her and the dragon. The Nightmare shook its head back and forth, shifting from massive foot to massive foot in discombobulation after being knocked in the head. The hulking man brandished a huge battle axe, warily watching the dragon as it opened its mouth, tried to growl…and belched. The man's face stretched in a grim, almost feral smile.

"Looks like you're all out," he rumbled. Hina almost pitied the dragon as her father, Stoick the Vast, advanced on it. The beast's eyes flickered desperately around, looking for an escape route as Stoick landed the second hard blow on its great head. It whined, seeming almost panicked. Then with a bitter growl, it launched itself forward. Stoick made to block…but the creature hurled itself off the bluff, only to wheel into the sky a moment later, Stoick's furious cry following it against the night.

Hina barely had time to push herself up onto her knees before her father had swung around, clenched the front of her tunic in one great fist, and hauled her up to dangle in front of him. She gulped, noticing for the first time the growing group of warriors gathered over his shoulder. When had they gotten there? Probably at the same time as the Nightmare…they'd probably been tracking it through the city… _and I cost them the kill…_ Hina looked into her father's face. The two of them looked nothing alike except for her red hair. His fell in unruly curls down his shoulders and over his face in a full beard, a shade darker to match his heavy brows. His skin was darkened with soot, large, strong nose completely blackened and strong jaw clenched. His dark brown eyes flickered, and Hina noted the unmistakable fury in them.

"I'm sorry, dad—" she started, but after scanning her for any memories he simply plopped her back onto the ground, cutting her off.

"This is exactly why women should never come onto the battlefield," he said quietly. "Especially not you, Hina. Do you know what could have happened if I didn't get here in time? Do you know what _did_ happen because I had to come up here and clean up your mess?" he waved a hand at the bluff, indicating the lost dragon, and encompassing her crushed invention. The sight reminded her of the evening's success, and a hopeful smile crossed her freckled face.

"Look, I know this looks really bad," she offered quietly, taking a couple steps toward where her father had turned his back to her. ""But I hit a Night Fury tonight! I really did, I swear! It fell around Raven Point…if we could just go look for it, you'll see, and—"

"Stop!" He bellowed. Hina had put a hand on his arm, turning to point in the direction of Raven Point, but he roughly shrugged her off, using the arm to jab one large finger at her, instead. "I have had more than enough of your foolishness." His voice had quieted, but in the silence of the night it carried, and Hina knew every single onlooking warrior heard his words. Somehow her gaze fell on Astren's form in the front row of warriors. His stoic face was smudged, angular brows slightly together in disapproval, muscular forearms crossed in front of the leather guard on his chest. Hina looked away, embarrassed.

"Hina!" Greg's voice broke the silence as he pushed through the crowd and jogged forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Stoick. "What did I tell you?" he demanded.

"I just came here, to the bluff!" Hina snapped back, heated. "And I shot down a Night Fury! If you'd just—"

"I'm not listening to this," Stoick grumbled, turning back to his warriors with a noncommittal wave toward Greg and Hina. "Take her home, Greg. I don't need any more trouble, today." Hina watched him go, heart sinking down into her boots. But what had she expected? Sure, she'd taken down a Night Fury…but had she really expected him to believe her? Would it have even mattered to him if he did? Noticing the despondent look on her face, Greg clapped a hand down on her shoulder.

"And this is why I tell you to stay inside," he said gently. As much as Greg had seen the girl's naive foolishness, her clumsiness and utter lack of strength, so too had he seen the quickness of her mind, the enthusiasm for her work and her eagerness to please her father above all. _This one's not catching any breaks,_ he prophesied glumly, knowing well that Hina seemed handcrafted to fit at odds with her city. He guided her by the shoulder through the crowd as Hina hung her head, not daring to meet any of the warriors' eyes.

"What a failure," she heard Sen mutter as she passed.

"Took down a night fury," a boy by his side scoffed in agreement. "Yeah, right."

"You messed up big time!" Another boy—apparently his twin—jabbed Hina in the shoulder. She rallied enough to glare fiercely at the group of youths, noting that Astren merely looked down at her, something like disgust on his face.

"Shut it, maggots," Greg directed tiredly to the rowdy youths, forging a pathway between them for himself and Hina. "Go start cleaning up—we've got a long night ahead of us yet." Hina didn't even bother offering to help—it would be treated more as a threat than anything else. So she stared at her feet, red hair falling into her eyes, as she followed Greg back to the Forge.

The trek felt far longer than it had when she'd run out to the bluff what felt like mere moments ago. Ordinarily she would enjoy the walk—the night air of Eko was always crisp, lightening by the perpetual chill of the air coming down from the mountains, dampened by the fog rolling in from the forest. The roads were narrow and stretched like cobbled ribbons through the city, flanked by tall apartments of brimstone, lined with arched doorways, cast iron balconies and flickering lamps whose yellow glows struggled against beams of star and moonlight. Tonight, however, she noticed little more than her own leather-clad feet, and the back of Greg's leather breeches as they walked along in silence.

When they reached the Forge, most of the people had cleared out. The bellows emitted a soft, orange glow that bled out the still-open doorway into the street. A few warriors lingered by the entrance, thanking the nurses and accepting small bundles of medicine before limping back to their homes. Hina watched the nurses as they stood under the arched corridor lining the Forge, waving after their charges. Hina had never wanted to be one of them—a woman always on the edge of life, watching others live it to the fullest, surrounded only by the negative consequences. And yet now she envied even them, for their self-respect, their sense of purpose and clarity of identity. She felt like a shadow—a hollowed out version of herself, passed from person to person. Her father didn't want anything to do with her; no one in the city seemed even remotely interested; and now even Greg seemed on the verge of throwing in the towel, shoulders slumped forward as they entered the Forge and he tiredly wiped a damp towel over his face. It came away black with soot. He tossed it into a nearby bucket of water with a snort of disgust.

"Well, you had a rough night," he broke the silence, voice stern but not unkind. "We all did, but there's still work to be done." Hina nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Finally Greg looked up, his dark eyes meeting her own. Hina noted the deep lines of his face, the softening in his gaze and the hidden pity she never even bothered to resent. In many ways, Greg had been more of a father to her than the great Stoick had ever tried to be. His severe underbite, complete with an auburn goatee, strong jaw bleeding into a shaved head and eyebrows as heavy as her father's, seemed to add weight to the grim set of his mouth. Hina knew he cared—he was perhaps the only one in the city who did. But it seemed after every incident she caused, the lines around his mouth deepened, and his eyebrows furrowed just a little more. She was wearing on him.

"I'm sorry," she muttered softly, staring into the bucket of water near the door for fires. "I don't know why I bother…" Her reflection stared back at her, green eyes blank, delicate brows red against her pale, freckled skin, mouth and jaw set firmly against any display of emotion. She knew better than to cry; it would only strengthen any image of weakness.

"Now, I know your father's hard on you," Greg admonished. Hina's gaze snapped back to meet his.

"Don't make light of this, Greg," she said firmly. "This isn't about my father's respect—I've long since given up on that." Her voice was flat. "This is about my life, my self…what happens to me now?" Greg sighed.

"First of all, don't give up on Stoick," he said. "Your father's a complicated man." Hina was shaking her head, but Greg held up a hand for her to stay silent. "And what do you mean, what happens to you?" He demanded. "You stay here—you continue working here. Tonight was just another night—another dragon attack. Nothing has changed."

"That's the problem!" Hina shouted. " _Nothing_ has changed! I'm still a klutz—still a weakling, and completely useless. Everyone knows it…you know it, even though you won't say it. My father wishes more than anything that I was a boy, that I was strong, capable of being a warrior…and all I can ever do is make a mess. I'm eighteen in two months…and in four, everyone leaves for the Academy and the Institute. Where on earth do I go?"

Hina thought with envy of the two schools of their society. One, the Institute, was for girls only. Located in the heart of the city, it was a beautiful, towering building, full of all the best politicians, diplomats, ambassadors, courtiers and artists, meant to train all the young ladies in elegance, intellect, artistry and the grace of careful power. The women that came out were tall, perfectly lithe, lethally clever. The thought of Hina even being accepted to the Institute was borderline laughable. Even those professors couldn't cure her of her klutziness, rash behavior and quick temper.

The Academy, on the other hand, was a veritable fortress beyond the city walls, located right in the Saddle between the mountains and the forest. For strictly boys, it was a training facility, turning youth like Sen and his cruel friends into valiant, ruthless warriors. It was rumored to start with trial by fire, as they were all thrown straight into dragon, griffin, and ogre combat. If she was honest, it was the Academy Hina had always dreamed of attending. She couldn't picture herself as a politician or a philosopher…but she could see herself on the battlefield as an inventor, a fighter…someone worthy of respect.

Greg watched the girl's face carefully. He had known her for years—since she was just a toddler. He'd seen her mind work a mile a minute, could almost see the gears turn whenever she was concocting a scheme or a new machine. He saw her dogged determination to be accepted, and watched her fail every time she made a mistake, and every time her stubborn, mule of a father refused to look past his nose. And so he knew, too, when her green eyes grew misty as she withdrew into her daydreams. He could almost see the Academy in her mind, knew full well that was where she really wanted to be. He sighed.

"There are still four months before we need to answer that question," he said tiredly, rising to begin putting the bellows to sleep for the night. "For now, stay in the Forge—keep learning from me. It can only help. Next week starts pre-screening. Maybe you can learn something from the orientations." Hina snapped back to reality at the sound of his voice, and nodded mutely. The pre-screening was the schools' method of weeding out the youth who were better off as low-level apprentices, laborers and shop keepers—those unsuited for scholarly pursuit or the battlefield. People like her. It was a preview—a series of tests for the girls, mock battles for the boys. Greg weighed her expression. "For tonight go home," he commanded. "It's still an early morning for us tomorrow—we've got to keep the bellows hot for city repairs." He offered a toothy smile, trying to lighten the mood. She responded with a weak one.

"Alright then," she said softly. "Goodnight. Shall I report at dawn tomorrow?" Greg nodded.

"Sleep well, lass. Be careful on the way home." Hina nodded, grateful he hadn't offered to walk her there. It would have been for her safety…but she couldn't take another blow to her ability to take care of herself. With another mellow nod, she walked back out into the night.

Hina's mind was a whirl of longing, flashes of the Academy behind her eyes as she plodded through the now-empty streets. It wasn't until she saw her little second-floor balcony, bathed in the yellow glow of the gaslight above it, that she paused. Her eyes landed on her desk, visible through the gauzy curtains separating the balcony from her apartment's interior. She knew her plans, sketches and calculations were sprawled across it, and the night's events washed over her all over again. The thrilling release of her machine; the satisfying thud as it collided with her target. _Raven Point_. She knew she'd hit the Night Fury…she hadn't made it up, and she hadn't imagined it. _I don't think I killed it…but I definitely hurt it. I wonder…is it still there?_

As though she could see through the buildings and the city walls, Hina turned to stare over her shoulder toward the bluff. Her heart raced. What if she could find it? She could prove to everyone that she was telling the truth…she could _prove_ she had done something right.

Taking a deep breath through the nose, Hina set her jaw, turned on her heel, and sprinted for the city gates.


End file.
